Great episode, not-so-great time for the Original family.
Confession: Other than my deep appreciation for good-looking people covered in blood, there is nothing I love more than watching my favorites get their asses handed back to them on a platter. (And sometimes these two things go hand in hand, which is honestly what my version of Christmas looks like, cup of hot cocoa on the side.) Setting aside that I might (probably) need to be psychoanalyzed, I love what the direst of dire straits do to characters because it’s often how you learn who they really are, for better or worse. I want to experience the depths of their despair and the pain of their choices, and I want to witness their rage and sheer force of will as they claw their way back up from hell. And when the characters involved are borderline invincible immortal beings with severe personal and interpersonal issues, well – let’s just say The Originals delivered a world of hurt like we’ve never seen before with Crescent City, and the anticipation as we await the sure-to-be-epic fall-out is nearly unbearable. The cherry on top of the sundae? A super-pissed off Elijah Mikaelson. Bring it on.